"What's my name?" He queries, his hand snaking its way down her body.
"Alpha King," She breathes, her voice becoming slightly hitched, "Caliban."
+ + +
IN THE IDES OF WINTER, when death reaps all that has been sown, Kore is chosen as an Althieme, on...
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IF THERE IS SUCH THING AS GODS AND GODDESSES
Kore is sure they do not dwell within Eluviel. For no matter how many times Callisto breathes a prayer, it is the low sigh of the wind and the chidings of the marquis' men who answer. But Callisto's belief runs much further than her own, telling those who listen that if the Goddess has forsaken them, then it is because she watches over Iomeda.
Iomeda, Kore's heart grows heavy and her mind plagued with memories at the sound of her sister's name, recalling the summers spent outside the hovel and the autumns at the base of the weeping willow, of words shared both good and evil, and promises always fulfilled. She lifts her head solemnly, looking at the slim ivory curve of the moon and wonders if Io also treks beneath it and whether she waits or walks, Kore vows that she will not be the first sister to break a promise.
'Do not look so glum,' Marquis Matthew says alas, his breathing heavy and his voice strained. He is a big man who has walked a larger distance and Kore finds herself hoping that by some divine luck that an opening will appear when the townsfolk don't encircle them and it is just her, her sister and the Marquis. They could run then, disappear into the night as if they are one of its very creatures, without worry that he could follow. 'We are almost at Bochbaille.'
It is Callisto who answers in a strangled sob. The sound is more painful than any Kore has heard before and paired with the sight of the emerging town, she becomes keenly aware of the fate she has been given.
Bochbaille is silent and still, sleeping beneath a thin blanket of ivory as they wander down its earthen pathways. In time, when both the sun and the townsfolk wake from their beds, the town will be alive. Smoke will seep in thicker billows from stone chimneys and there will be a trade of both wares and words. Kore wonders if they will tell of the night and the men it brought, of the hovel that burned and the girls they stole.
She wants to scream, to rid herself of the dread that gnaws at her stomach like a parasite griping at exposed flesh and to stop whatever horrors the dawn may bring. But even if she were to yell without being silenced by another's hand, she is sure no townsfolk will pay it any mind when they see who the Marquis has taken.
